


Intriguing Possibilities

by aroceu



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8787634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroceu/pseuds/aroceu
Summary: Mark first meets Erica at a party.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i am maximum trash

Mark doesn’t want to be here.  
  
For one thing, he doesn’t know anyone, and _that’s_  just really fucking annoying from the get-go. Eduardo had said he would meet him here, but once Mark had stepped onto the front porch, he’d gotten a text from Eduardo saying that he got held up by a group project and couldn’t come. Chris has a meeting for some club he won’t tell anyone about, and Dustin...  
  
Actually, Mark half-expected Dustin to show up for this party. He texts him and pockets his phone away, trying not to look too lonely.  
  
Parties aren’t really his thing. Ideally speaking, yes, because he’d like to get laid, and the only way he’d get laid is if he met people, and he’ll only meet people at parties. House parties, across the streets of Boston, so he doesn’t have to expect to accidentally run into someone he might fuck up with around Dworkin. Anyway, it’s not like he’d sleep with anyone in his OS class, or the computer lab, so this is his only choice.  
  
It’s a pretty shitty choice, considering the music is pop instead of actual dance music, and he’s nursing a can of beer and not feeling the bass in his head yet. House parties are terrible, he thinks. Socializing is terrible. He takes a drink of his beer.  
  
Someone bumps into him, and Mark ignores it. A second later, that someone is turning around and saying, “Oh sorry—dude! Dude, I recognize you!” He’s drunk and his snapback is falling sideways off his head. Mark takes another sip.  
  
“Do you,” he says.  
  
“Yeah, dude, you’re the one who made the—the—” The guy grins. Mark idly wonders how many times he can fit the word “dude” in a sentence.  
  
“I make things, yes,” Mark says. And because secondhand embarrassment isn’t a good look on anyone. “I’m a programmer.”  
  
“Yeah! You made that course thingy!” The guy brings a hand up to Mark. “Awesome, man, high-five!"  
  
Mark takes it instinctively. It’s warm and sticky and sweaty.  
  
“That was disgusting,” he says, when he lets go.  
  
“Nah, nah, man, you’re a genius.” The guy takes a swig of his own drink and grins. “Man, I got my schedule to match up with this,” his voice drops low, “girl I’ve been hitting on all last year. So genius.”  
  
Mark’s eyelids flit. “Congratulations,” he says.  
  
“Man,” says the guy. “You’re a genius, man. Gonna go places.” He points his finger at Mark and winks like he thinks Mark should be impressed, even though Mark knows he’s going to go places. He doesn’t know if he’s going to get laid tonight. He ignores it.  
  
“One more high-five, man.” The guy brings his hand up again.  
  
Mark wonders if he’s moved on from “dude” to “man.”  
  
“No, I’m fine,” he says, bringing his beer to his lips and making his way past him.  
  
The guy frowns, swiveling on the spot. His hand is still in the air. “C’mon, bro! Dude-fives! You gotta—high-five me, man!”  
  
“I don’t want to catch a disease,” Mark calls behind him.  
  
He turns around to make sure that the guy won’t stalk him out of the house or anything. But the guy is spinning around blankly, like he didn’t realize where Mark had gone, and bumps into a table. A cup of warm beer splashes all over him and he moans, “Fuck!” People all around him snicker.  
  
Mark can’t suppress a smirk.  
  
He’s heading back to the door when he feels a tap on his shoulder. Prepared for another slew of dude-bro high-fives, he sighs and turns around.  
  
He comes face-to-face with a very pretty girl.  
  
“Hi, _dude_ ,” she says in a low voice and for a second Mark is confused. Then he realizes she’s putting on a voice, and smiling at him.  
  
He smiles back. “Hi.”  
  
“I heard you made a website for signing up for courses?” the pretty girl says.  
  
“Where’d you hear that?”  
  
“From dude-man-bro over there.” The girl rolls her eyes and gestures backwards. Over her shoulder, Mark can see that the guy is attempting to wipe the beer on his jeans with his t-shirt. It’s not helping.  
  
“He was being pretty loud,” the girl explains.  
  
“Yeah.” Mark looks her up and down. “He was."  
  
She’s watching him, and she looks interested—interested in _something_. Mark takes another drink of his beer. She’d asked him about his program. He can talk about that.  
  
“It’s called CourseMatch,” he says. “It lets your friends put their schedules online and you can rearrange yours to match theirs.”  
  
“Pretty handy,” the girl compliments. “Just for Harvard and other geniuses like you?”  
  
Mark frowns. He doesn’t want to run into anyone in Dworkin, but—“Do you not go to Harvard?”  
  
“Nah, BU.” The girl gestures vaguely around the house. “Friend of a friend dragged me here. I didn’t think this party would be this lame.”  
  
Mark takes another sip and evaluates.  
  
“I’m Mark,” he decides, after a second.  
  
The pretty girl smiles. “I’m Erica.”  
  
They’re still standing in the middle of the bustling hallway, so they move to the wall and lean their backs against it. Mark’s phone buzzes, but the girl—Erica—hasn’t tried to leave yet, or cut their conversation off, so he figures he must be doing something right. He tends to be better at everything when he’s drunk. Usually three words into a conversation and girls—pretty girls, especially—move on, deciding that they have business elsewhere.  
  
Erica isn’t like that, because she says, “So you’re kind of a nerd, huh?” and she’s half-laughing with it.  
  
“I wouldn’t call myself a nerd,” says Mark. “More like… an intelligent brand of unique.”  
  
“Oh my god.” Erica laughs again, into her hand. She doesn’t giggle. Mark likes that. “That is _probably_  the most pretentious thing I’ve ever heard."  
  
Mark grins. “Yeah, it was pretty bad, wasn’t it.” He offers his can to her, but she declines.  
  
“So do you want to do something with programming?” Erica asks. “Or are you actually a man of many talents?”  
  
“I fence and I like Latin,” says Mark, like it’s no big deal. “But I’ve actually already done something with programming. In high school I made this app called Synapse, it determines your music taste by song choice and suggests the next one for you.”  
  
“Ooh.” Erica leans in. “That’s really impressive.”  
  
“I’m not sure if I would call them talents,” Mark adds. “Like, passions. Anything can be a talent. You just have to make yourself like it.”  
  
“And then you’re good at it,” Erica concedes.  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
They fall into a short, companionable silence. Mark wonders how impressed Erica would be if he told her he got a 1600 on his SATs.  
  
“I guess I don’t look like much of a fencer,” he says, after a moment. “But I assure you—”  
  
“—under your Gap sweatshirt and cargo shorts lies the frame of a muscular athlete?” Erica gives him a once-over and giggles. Mark forgives it. “Don’t worry, Mark, what you lack in brawn makes up for your brains.”  
  
“Yes, well.” Mark pauses. “It’s best to have both.”  
  
“Do you have both?”  
  
“Do you think I have both?”  
  
Erica’s eyes meet his. Then, for a second, they flicker down to his lips.  
  
Mark doesn’t think himself as a particularly smooth person—wooing and courting are for, like, people who care. But it’s kind of the perfect moment to, so he leans in about an inch.  
  
Erica does the rest of the work, bridges the gap. Both their heads are resting against the wall and their mouths slide gracefully. Erica tastes like some sweet chapstick, better than the smelly ones that Mark’s sisters would use, a tinge of beer, and something vaguely spicy. Mark inhales with his nose and kisses back, because Erica is warm and wet and soft and one of her hands is reaching out to grasp at Mark’s upper arm. Mark leans in deeper, even though their noses kind of squash together, trails his hand awkwardly down Erica’s side. Erica smiles into him, even more when he rests it at her hip. Their faces are tucked into each other, the sides of their noses touching.  
  
“You’re.” Mark’s voice is hoarse. “You’re good at this.”  
  
Erica shrugs. Their foreheads are touching, but Mark’s cheeks feel hot. He stares down at nothing before realizing that it might look like he’s trying to look down her shirt. Everything about this world feels new.  
  
“Wanna go outside?” Erica whispers into his ear.  
  
Mark nods numbly. Erica fastens her hand into Mark’s grip and leads them out of the house, saying hi—or bye—to people, Mark’s not sure which.  
  
Once they’re outside, she drags him to her mouth and he follows it, instinctively pushing her back. She yelps a little and Mark can feel a bush around their ankles, so he tugs her closer to him, hips knocking together. He’s half-hard already from how pretty she looks and how she kisses, how she makes these tiny humming noises as she nips at his lips. Mark is—Mark is exhaling with his nose this time, and she giggles again, against his mouth.  
  
Mark can forgive her if she keeps kissing him like that.  
  
“That tickles,” she murmurs against him.  
  
Mark doesn’t know what to say to that, so he adjusts his grip on her waist, changing the angle of their mouths. Erica’s tongue teases against him and he shifts his body for heat. Erica’s arms have congregated around Mark’s neck, even though Mark’s not particularly tall, and she’s kissing him like—like she _wants_  him. Erica wants him. Mark is going to blog about this when he gets home.  
  
Maybe not about the details, but more like, fuck you everyone at P.E. who thought he would never get a girlfriend.  
  
Erica is rolling her hips against him. Mark didn’t know girls could _do_  that. Then she’s taking one of Mark’s hands off her waist and teasing it up her shirt, and Mark’s breath catches. He doesn’t know what he’s allowed to do so he lets her, and she guides his hand to her breast, around the cup of her bra.  
  
Then he can’t help himself and squeezes gently. She gasps, into him, and it’s almost better than Microsoft asking to buy Synapse.  
  
“Mark,” she murmurs, and fuck, that’s hot. He’s not sure when he got a crush, or anything, but he definitely won’t mind dating her or something. If he gets into any final clubs, bringing her to all the events. She’d love it. She’d look so pretty on his arm, laughing, coming back to Kirkland and maybe making out with him on the couch. Mark always sees Eduardo making out with people on that couch, and Eduardo doesn’t even live there. It’s Mark’s turn.  
  
He rolls his hand over her tiny boobs, gently so she keeps making those delicious noises. And because she’s not protesting, he slides a hand under the cup to feel the skin there. She whispers, “Yes,” against him, sucking bruises onto his neck as he touches the tits of a real life human girl. In the dim lighting when he unclasps it—growing up with sisters has accidentally made him good at that—he can see the dark lettering on the label. 34C.  
  
It gets kind of weird, after a while, so he takes his hands out, feeling like they’ve overstayed their welcome. Erica doesn’t seem to mind and clips her bra back on and kisses him again. This time she tastes less of everything else and more like herself, and Mark. It’s hot. Mark shudders and laughs into her mouth. He laughs when he gets turned on.  
  
“You’re cute,” she says, when she breaks away. No girl has ever called him cute before.  
  
She takes a few steps backwards and pulls out her phone. Mark is at a loss to do when she glances at the screen.  
  
“Oh, Bobby’s here too!” she says, mostly to herself. And then to Mark, “I should probably go.” She’s acting like nothing’s happened, even though her lips are red and swollen and she’s readjusting her bra from the back, underneath her cardigan. Mark doesn’t know what to do; his mind is hazy and his mouth feels too big.  
  
“Yeah you—I should—” he says, eloquently. He points vaguely back out into the night.  
  
Erica straightens out her shirt and folds her arms. She smiles.  
  
“You know,” she says. “We should go out to the Thirsty Scholar sometime.”  
  
Mark nearly swallows his tongue, but in a good way. “Yeah?”  
  
“Get drinks, eat dinner,” Erica says. “Talk about your accomplishments more.”  
  
Now would not be the good time to mention his SAT score. She’s about to leave. “I’m good at that,” Mark says, instead.  
  
“I know,” says Erica. But not meanly. “Here, give me your number.”  
  
Mark does and awkwardly waits as Erica punches in her own number on Mark’s cellphone. When she gives it back, Mark takes it and quickly pockets it into his hoodie, along with his left hand.  
  
Erica heads toward the door. “See you later, Mark,” she says, with a second glance back.  
  
Mark watches her go, a bright outline in the cool October night. “Yeah,” he mutters. “See you.”  
  
He treks back to campus on foot.


End file.
